The Virgin's War (Tudor Legacy #3)(98)

“What happened?” he asked. “Did James refuse his army?” It was the only thing he could think of that would make her look like this—as though every hope of hers had been trampled by careless marauders.

When she didn’t immediately answer, Kit rushed to reassure her. “We’ll manage, Anabel. With Arundel’s open support, and the growing outrage over Pippa—” He had to stop at that, his throat catching. Then he set his jaw and went on. “We may well be outnumbered without the Scots—”

“We won’t be outnumbered,” she said tonelessly. “The king has agreed to lead his army to Berwick.”

“That’s…Thank God for it.” He studied her more closely, then asked shrewdly, “What is his price?”

“There is only one price James will accept.”

“You.”

She nodded once. “He will lend his armies to his wife, and no one else.”

“We’ve always known that, Anabel. It’s not as though it’s a surprise.”

“We will be married tomorrow.”

The room spun around Kit, much as it had at Pippa’s death, and when it settled he realized that it was, indeed, possible to feel worse. He tried, for her sake, to give Anabel hope. “I doubt the queen’s privy council would approve. I know a marriage ceremony means much, but vows can be undone—”

“James has thought of that. He has thought of everything—a good deal more, in fact, than either of us would like. It will not be the vows only. Wedded at noon, and bedded at sunset…James Stuart means to make very sure of me.”





When Kit had come to her after Pippa’s death, Anabel thought she would never again see anything so terrible as his face in that raw grief. This was very nearly as bad. She watched the colour drain from his forehead downward, until the only thing she could see were his beautiful, bleak, hopeless eyes.

She wanted to go to him, wanted to wrap herself around him and tell him it made no difference, she would never love James, it would always be Kit…

But she was trained to self-control. And so, though his childhood had not always shown it, was Kit.

“I see.” His voice was new, one to break her heart. “Yes, I can…” He cleared his throat. “It will be here?”

“At the church in Ladykirk. I will stay here tonight.”

“You will need things—people—from Berwick. If you’d care to prepare a list?”

“I will.”

He could not leave while she stood against the door, though plainly he wanted to. Hesitantly, Anabel stepped toward him. “Kit—”

“It’s all right. I do understand. Just…let me see to what needs to be done. Please.”

With all her considerable force of will, Anabel summoned detachment, or at least the nearest image of it she could manage. “Thank you.”

She closed her eyes as he passed her, near enough for her to smell the scent of him. Kit always smelled of clean air and open fields and the gardens of Wynfield Mote, where she had first felt the warmth of a family home. He did not linger, but she kept her eyes closed long after he’d gone, knowing that when she opened them, her chosen future would be upon her.

You told me once I might have a husband of my own choosing, she had said to Pippa.

Choices may be made for many reasons, had been the reply. True. If not at all comforting at the moment.

Anabel threw herself furiously into a whirlwind of letter writing the rest of that dreadfully drawn-out day. To Berwick Castle she sent not only a list of necessities for tomorrow but a matter-of-fact explanation of events to Lord Hunsdon. The fact of her marriage was glossed over quickly, in favor of the military situation. Knowing that every hour now counted, Anabel wrote, King James and I will leave at first light the day after tomorrow to march his men to Berwick.

It would be none too soon, for when Kit returned he brought Robert Cecil, Matthew Harrington, and her chaplain, Littlefield. The news was dispiriting. Spanish scouts were already beginning to reach shore. Berwick might soon be surrounded.

As long as she had such matters to concentrate her mind upon, Anabel managed well enough. But after dinner, when the long twilight of a northern summer finally slipped into velvety night, all that was left to her were regrets.

No. There was one other thing left to her. One night to do as she wished.

When the castle had gone to bed, she sent Madalena to fetch Kit.

When he appeared, an unlaced jerkin thrown over his shirtsleeves, he had a distinctly bruised appearance about the eyes. Anabel felt much the same. And though she was no stranger to making imperious demands, she felt queer and uncertain. Because this was not a demand…and it mattered more to her at this moment than anything in the world.

“I love you,” she said, determined not to waste time on preliminaries. “I will never, in all my life, love anyone as I do you.”

“Anabel…I love you, mi corazon, and no number of Scottish husbands will ever change that.”

She was in his arms before she knew it, and when he would have gently disengaged, she kissed him all the fiercer.

“What are you doing?” he managed to ask, sounding as breathless as she felt.

She took a step back from the circle of his arms and he let her go. Reluctantly. And then she found the words that had been tumbling through her all day.